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What were The Troubles? | Northern Ireland spotlight

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Contrary to the policies of UUP governments that disadvantaged Catholics, the Education Act that the Northern Ireland Parliament passed into law in 1947 increased educational opportunities for all citizens of the province. As a result, the generation of well-educated Catholics who came of age in the 1960s had new expectations for more equitable treatment. At a time when political activism was on the rise in Europe-from the events of May 1968 in France to the Prague Spring-and when the American civil rights movement was making great strides, Catholic activists in Northern Ireland such as John Hume and Bernadette Devlin came together to form civil rights groups such as the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association (NICRA).

Although more than one violently disrupted political march has been pointed to as the starting point of the Troubles, it can be argued that the catalyzing event occurred on October 5, 1968, in Derry, where a march had been organized by the NICRA to protest discrimination and gerrymandering. The march was banned when unionists announced that they would be staging a counterdemonstration, but the NICRA decided to carry out their protest anyway. Rioting then erupted after the RUC violently suppressed the marchers with batons and a water cannon.

Similarly inflammatory were the events surrounding a march held by loyalists in Londonderry on August 12, 1969. Two days of rioting that became known as the Battle of Bogside (after the Catholic area in which the confrontation occurred) stemmed from the escalating clash between nationalists and the RUC, which was acting as a buffer between loyalist marchers and Catholic residents of the area. Rioting in support of the nationalists then erupted in Belfast and elsewhere, and the British army was dispatched to restore calm. Thereafter, violent confrontation only escalated, and the Troubles (a name that neither characterized the nature of the conflict nor assigned blame for it to one side or the other) had clearly begun.

The emergence of the Provisional IRA and the loyalist paramilitaries

Initially, the nationalists welcomed the British army as protectors and as a balance for the Protestant-leaning RUC. In time, however, the army would be viewed by nationalists as another version of the enemy, especially after its aggressive efforts to disarm republican paramilitaries. In the process, the Irish Republican Army (IRA) became the defender of the nationalist cause. From its base in Ireland (which had formally left the Commonwealth in 1949), the IRA had mounted an ineffectual guerrilla effort in support of Northern Ireland's nationalists from 1956 to 1962, but, as the 1960s progressed, the IRA became less concerned with affairs in the north than with advancing a Marxist political agenda. As a result, a splinter group, the Provisional Irish Republican Army (Provos), which was prepared to use force to bring about unification, emerged as the champion of Northern Ireland's nationalists. (The Official IRA would conduct operations in support of the republicans in Northern Ireland until undertaking a cease-fire in 1972, after which it effectively ceded the title of the IRA in the north to the Provos.) Believing that their fight was a continuation of the Irish War of Independence, the Provos adopted the tactics of guerrilla warfare, financed partly by members of the Irish diaspora in the United States and later supplied with arms and munitions by the government of Libyan strongman Muammar al-Qaddafi. Unionists also took up arms, swelling the numbers of loyalist paramilitary organizations, most notably the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and Ulster Defence Association UDA).

Internment, "peace walls," and "Bloody Sunday"

In an attempt to address nationalist grievances, electoral boundaries were redrawn more fairly, efforts were made to rectify discrimination in housing and public employment, and the B Specials were decommissioned. At the same time, the government of Northern Ireland responded to the growing unrest by introducing increasingly stringent security measures, including internment (detention without trial). The overwhelming majority of those arrested, however, were nationalists.

As the 1970s progressed, rioting became more common in Belfast and Derry, bombings of public places (by both loyalists and republicans) increased, and both sides of the conflict perpetrated violent, deadly atrocities. Barbed wire laid by British soldiers to separate the sectarian communities evolved into brick and steel "peace walls," some of which stood 45 feet (14 metres) high, segregating loyalist and republican enclaves, most famously the Falls Road Catholic community and the Shankill Protestant community of Belfast.

On January 30, 1972, the conflict reached a new level of intensity when British paratroopers fired on Catholic civil rights demonstrators in Londonderry, killing 13 and injuring 14 others (one of whom later died). The incident, which became known as "Bloody Sunday," contributed to a spike in Provos recruitment and would remain controversial for decades, hinging on the question of which side fired first. In 2010 the Saville Report , the final pronouncement of a British government inquiry into the event, concluded that none of the victims had posed a threat to the troops and that their shooting had been unjustified. British Prime Minister David Cameron responded to the report by issuing a landmark apology for the shooting:

There is no point in trying to soften or equivocate what is in this report. It is clear from the tribunal's authoritative conclusions that the events of Bloody Sunday were in no way justified....What happened should never, ever have happened....Some members of our armed forces acted wrongly. The government is ultimately responsible for the conduct of the armed forces and for that, on behalf of the government, indeed, on behalf of our country, I am deeply sorry.

In all, more than 480 people were killed as a result of the conflict in Northern Ireland in 1972, which proved to be the deadliest single year in the Troubles. That total included more than 100 fatalities for the British army, as the IRA escalated its onslaught. On July 21, "Bloody Friday," nine people were killed and scores were injured when some two dozen bombs were detonated by the Provos in Belfast. Earlier, in March, frustrated with the Northern Ireland government's failure to calm the situation, the British government suspended the Northern Ireland Parliament and reinstituted direct rule by Westminster.

Beginning in the mid-1970s, the IRA shifted the emphasis of its "Long War" from direct engagements with British troops to smaller-scale secretive operations, including the bombing of cities in Britain-a change of tactics the British military described as a shift from "insurgency" to "terrorism." Similarly, the loyalist groups began setting off bombs in Ireland. Meanwhile, paramilitary violence at mid-decade (1974-76) resulted in the civilian deaths of some 370 Catholics and 88 Protestants.

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The Troubles - Civil rights activism, the Battle of Bogside, and the arrival of the British army

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The Troubles - The Troubles - Civil rights activism, the Battle of Bogside, and the arrival of the British army: Contrary to the policies of UUP governments that disadvantaged Catholics, the Education Act that the Northern Ireland Parliament passed into law in 1947 increased educational opportunities for all citizens of the province.

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Seamus Heaney reads 'Whatever You Say, Say Nothing'

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Main idea

Seamus herney, an Irish writer that arrived Spain, a country where people looked blue, worried, stressed and unhappy. He also noticed that there was also an oppressive environment. When he got to the Museo del Prado he saw the paintings “Fusilamientos del 3 de mayo” and “Saturno devorando a sus hijos” made by Goya, he established some type of correlation between the paintings (dark, gloomy, anxious) and the situation on the streets: the Franco’s regime and the lack of liberty that was on Spain.

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The poem "Whatever You Say, Say Nothing" is a commentary on the political climate in Northern Ireland and the culture of silence that surrounds it. The speaker emphasizes the importance of not speaking one's thoughts in order to avoid being misunderstood or getting into trouble. The poem highlights the fear and tension that pervades everyday life in Northern Ireland, and the need for both sides to learn to listen and communicate effectively. The overall message is that genuine dialogue and understanding are essential for resolving conflict and creating a more peaceful society.

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Seeing the bags of meal passed hand to hand
In close-up by the aid workers, and soldiers
Firing over the mob, I was braced again

With a grip on two sack corners,
Two packed wads of grain I’d worked to lugs
To give me purchase, ready for the heave-

The eye-to-eye, one-two, one-two upswing
On to the trailer, then the stoop and drag and drain
Of the next lift. Nothing superpassed

That quick unburdening, back break’s truest payback,
A letting go which will not come again.
Or it will, once. And for all

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Heaney's title poem, dedicated to Terence Brown, salutes chains of support - human solidarity in the face of social disaster. He associates himself with the compassion, love and respect required of people who devote themselves selflessly to such missions

The poem adapts the 'shared burden' theme of Miraclemarking the backbreaking work undertaken by aid workers dedicated to the survival of victims of Third World famine and political repression. He imagines himself as an active even allegorical participant (he is a poet with a public voice and huge sensitivity to the Troubles in his own Northern Irish homeland).

In the final couplet Heaney reflects on his own dwindling potential as a link in the human chain.

Heaney is reviewing footage of basic supplies being delivered in emergency aid ( bags of meal passed hand to hand ... by the aid workers). Television footage by its nature adds drama to news clips - that of indigenous victims, reduced to animal starvation and fear of not receiving anything, subjected to repressive control ( soldiers firing over the mob).

The memory of loading heavy sacks as a farmer's son is sparked - Heaney ( braced again), physically poised to join with aid workers.

Heaney is skilled at describing how the laws of physics and anatomical dynamics inter-react. He breaks down the process (as he illustrated in A Shiver of District and Circle of 2006): firstly securing a grip ( two sack corners) by manipulating a handhold ( worked to lugs) then dealing with its dead weight ( heave) either in single combat with the sack or operating with a co-worker ( eye-to-eye) prior to developing a rhythmical momentum ( one-two, one-two) and upswing.

Not just a single sack ... more of the same ( stoop and drag and drain of the next lift).No greater relief ( nothing surpassed) once the weight is shifted from the upper body ( quick unburdening, backbreak's truest payback).

Heaney confesses his youthful sack-tossing days ( letting go) are over ( will not come again) then reflects on another sense of the phrase - as illness has made it so clear, he is mortal and will one day relinquish his grip on life - the final letting-go ( once) ... with no come-back ( And for all).

Terence Brown1944-: born in China, the son of Presbyterian missionary parents; educated at Belfast Academical Institute; prominent in rugby and cricket as a schoolboy; Associate Professor at Trinity College Dublin, where he is also a Senior Fellow; member of the Royal Irish Academy and of the Academia Europaea. He attributes the dedication to 'SH's view that as a teacher I have helped to pass on a tradition of love and respect for poetry.' His e-mail of Sept 23, 2010 to DF

meal: edible powder ground from grains and pulses;

mob: large potentially disorderly crowd;

braced: with body set to retain balance;

wad: describing something large and tightly-packed;

grain: wheat seeds intended as food;

lug: corner grip to facilitate lifting and carrying;

give purchase: achieve fingerhold;

eye-to-eye: suggestive of co-ordinated lifting with a second person:

stoop: bend forwards and downwards;

drain: expenditure, her, of energy;

surpass: exceed, be better than

payback: return, dividend;

let go: play on two ideas release of a burden (sack), relinquish one's hold on (life);

More on Terence brown: That Island Never Found is a collection of poems and essays in honour of Terence Brown by some of Ireland's leading writers and scholars. This poem is included in the Festschrift. In the cultural history of twentieth-century Ireland, Brown is regarded as having played a central role for decades in the island's critical imagination. His gifts as a scholar and teacher are recognized.

In this brave and unsentimental book, continuity and finality compete for prominence. The title poem concerns itself with 'A letting go which will not come again. Or it will, once. And for all' as Heaney, in a masterful elision of image and memory, compares aid workers passing bags of meal 'hand to hand/In close up' to his experience of heaving sacks of grain on to a trailer(Tel/O'Riordan)

12 free-verse lines in tercets; one long sentence split by a dash; a final phrase accepts the human condition;

theimagery recognizes that harvest yields a financial return: Two packed wads of grain (suggestive of rolls of banknotes); the dual meaning of purchase (physical leverage and financial transaction);

Heaney succeeds in packing much into the short alliterated phrase:drag and drain defines the awkward posture, overtaxed muscles and overall sapping of energy summed up in backbreak's truest payback;

assonance: seeing/ meal; again/ drain;

repetitions echo the repetitive task:hand to hand/ eye-to-eye; one-two/one/two.

Heaney is a meticulous craftsman using combinations of vowel and consonant to form a poem that is something to be listened to.

the music of the poem: twelve assonant strands are woven into the text; Heaney places them grouped within specific areas to create internal rhymes , or reprises them at intervals or threads them through the text;

syllables without highlight are largely the unstressed sound as in comm, little [ə]

alliterative effects allow pulses or beats, soothings or hissings or frictions of consonant sound to modify the assonant melodies; this is sonic engineering of the first order;

a full breakdown of consonant sounds and where in the mouth they are formed is to be found in the Afterthoughts section;

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Poem Human Chain by Seamus Heaney - Essay

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Heaney's title poem, dedicated to Terence Brown, salutes chains of support - human solidarity in the face of social disaster. He associates himself with the compassion, love and respect required of people who devote themselves selflessly to such missions The poem adapts the 'shared burden' theme of Miracle marking the backbreaking work undertaken by aid workers dedicated to the survival of victims of Third World famine and political repression.

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Heaney was greatly influenced by the historical events in his lifetime. The violence in Northern Ireland affected him deeply and he expressed it in his poetry. The 30 of January of 1972 was known as “Bloody Sunday” because 13 civilians were killed in clashes with the British army.

The poem adapts the 'shared burden' theme of Miracle marking the backbreaking work undertaken by aid workers dedicated to the survival of victims of Third World famine and political repression. He imagines himself as an active and allegorical participant even though he is just a poet with a public voice and huge sensitivity to the Troubles in his own Northern Irish homeland.

In the final couplet Heaney reflects on his own dwindling potential as a link in the human chain.

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Heaney's title poem, dedicated to Terence Brown, salutes chains of support - human solidarity in the face of social disaster. He associates himself with the compassion, love and respect required of people who devote themselves selflessly to such missions

The poem adapts the 'shared burden' theme of Miraclemarking the backbreaking work undertaken by aid workers dedicated to the survival of victims of Third World famine and political repression. He imagines himself as an active even allegorical participant (he is a poet with a public voice and huge sensitivity to the Troubles in his own Northern Irish homeland).

In the final couplet Heaney reflects on his own dwindling potential as a link in the human chain.

Heaney is reviewing footage of basic supplies being delivered in emergency aid ( bags of meal passed hand to hand ... by the aid workers). Television footage by its nature adds drama to news clips - that of indigenous victims, reduced to animal starvation and fear of not receiving anything, subjected to repressive control ( soldiers firing over the mob).

The memory of loading heavy sacks as a farmer's son is sparked - Heaney ( braced again), physically poised to join with aid workers.

Heaney is skilled at describing how the laws of physics and anatomical dynamics inter-react. He breaks down the process (as he illustrated in A Shiver of District and Circle of 2006): firstly securing a grip ( two sack corners) by manipulating a handhold ( worked to lugs) then dealing with its dead weight ( heave) either in single combat with the sack or operating with a co-worker ( eye-to-eye) prior to developing a rhythmical momentum ( one-two, one-two) and upswing.

Not just a single sack ... more of the same ( stoop and drag and drain of the next lift).No greater relief ( nothing surpassed) once the weight is shifted from the upper body ( quick unburdening, backbreak's truest payback).

Heaney confesses his youthful sack-tossing days ( letting go) are over ( will not come again) then reflects on another sense of the phrase - as illness has made it so clear, he is mortal and will one day relinquish his grip on life - the final letting-go ( once) ... with no come-back ( And for all).

Terence Brown1944-: born in China, the son of Presbyterian missionary parents; educated at Belfast Academical Institute; prominent in rugby and cricket as a schoolboy; Associate Professor at Trinity College Dublin, where he is also a Senior Fellow; member of the Royal Irish Academy and of the Academia Europaea. He attributes the dedication to 'SH's view that as a teacher I have helped to pass on a tradition of love and respect for poetry.' His e-mail of Sept 23, 2010 to DF

meal: edible powder ground from grains and pulses;

mob: large potentially disorderly crowd;

braced: with body set to retain balance;

wad: describing something large and tightly-packed;

grain: wheat seeds intended as food;

lug: corner grip to facilitate lifting and carrying;

give purchase: achieve fingerhold;

eye-to-eye: suggestive of co-ordinated lifting with a second person:

stoop: bend forwards and downwards;

drain: expenditure, her, of energy;

surpass: exceed, be better than

payback: return, dividend;

let go: play on two ideas release of a burden (sack), relinquish one's hold on (life);

More on Terence brown: That Island Never Found is a collection of poems and essays in honour of Terence Brown by some of Ireland's leading writers and scholars. This poem is included in the Festschrift. In the cultural history of twentieth-century Ireland, Brown is regarded as having played a central role for decades in the island's critical imagination. His gifts as a scholar and teacher are recognized.

In this brave and unsentimental book, continuity and finality compete for prominence. The title poem concerns itself with 'A letting go which will not come again. Or it will, once. And for all' as Heaney, in a masterful elision of image and memory, compares aid workers passing bags of meal 'hand to hand/In close up' to his experience of heaving sacks of grain on to a trailer(Tel/O'Riordan)

12 free-verse lines in tercets; one long sentence split by a dash; a final phrase accepts the human condition;

theimagery recognizes that harvest yields a financial return: Two packed wads of grain (suggestive of rolls of banknotes); the dual meaning of purchase (physical leverage and financial transaction);

Heaney succeeds in packing much into the short alliterated phrase:drag and drain defines the awkward posture, overtaxed muscles and overall sapping of energy summed up in backbreak's truest payback;

assonance: seeing/ meal; again/ drain;

repetitions echo the repetitive task:hand to hand/ eye-to-eye; one-two/one/two.

Heaney is a meticulous craftsman using combinations of vowel and consonant to form a poem that is something to be listened to.

the music of the poem: twelve assonant strands are woven into the text; Heaney places them grouped within specific areas to create internal rhymes , or reprises them at intervals or threads them through the text;

syllables without highlight are largely the unstressed sound as in comm, little [ə]

alliterative effects allow pulses or beats, soothings or hissings or frictions of consonant sound to modify the assonant melodies; this is sonic engineering of the first order;

a full breakdown of consonant sounds and where in the mouth they are formed is to be found in the Afterthoughts section;

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Poem Human Chain by Seamus Heaney - Essay

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Heaney's title poem, dedicated to Terence Brown, salutes chains of support - human solidarity in the face of social disaster. He associates himself with the compassion, love and respect required of people who devote themselves selflessly to such missions The poem adapts the 'shared burden' theme of Miracle marking the backbreaking work undertaken by aid workers dedicated to the survival of victims of Third World famine and political repression.

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We choose this part of the poem because it's interesting to us how he describes the painting about such a horrible event with an empathy as if he was in the painting living it.

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In Memoriam Francis Ledwidge Lola/Amanda/Sara

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In Memoriam Francis Ledwidge Lola/Amanda/Sara

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In memoriam Francis Ledwidge

Killed in France 31 July 1917

The bronze soldier hitches a bronze cape
That crumples stiffly in imagined wind
No matter how the real winds buff and sweep
His sudden hunkering run, forever craned

Over Flanders. Helmet and haversack,
The gun's firm slope from butt to bayonet,
The loyal, fallen names on the embossed plaque --
It all meant little to the worried pet

I was in nineteen forty-six or seven,
Gripping my Aunt Mary by the hand
Along the Portstewart prom, then round the crescent
To thread the Castle Walk out to the strand.

The pilot from Coleraine sailed to the coal-boat.
Courting couples rose out of the scooped dunes.
A farmer stripped to his studs and shiny waistcoat
Rolled the trousers down on his timid shins.

At night when coloured bulbs strung out the sea-front
Country voices rose from a cliff-top shelter
With news of a great litter - "We'll pet the runt!" -
And barbed wire that had torn a friesian's elder.

Francis Ledwidge, you courted at the seaside
Beyond Drogheda one Sunday afternoon.
Literary, sweet-talking, countrified,
You pedalled out the leafy road from Slane.

Where you belonged, among the dolorous
And lovely: the May altar of wild flowers,
Easter water sprinkled in outhouses,
Mass-rocks and hill-top raths and raftered byres.

I think of you in your Tommy's uniform,
A haunted Catholic face, pallid and brave,
Ghosting the trenches with a bloom of hawthorn
Or silence cored from a Boyne passage-grave.

It's summer, nineteen-fifteen. I see the girl
My aunt was then, herding on the long acre.
Behind a low bush in the Dardanelles
You suck stones to make your dry mouth water.

It's nineteen-seventeen. She still herds cows,
But a big strafe puts the candles out in Ypres:
'My soul is by the Boyne, cutting new meadows...
My country wears her confirmation dress.'

'To be called a British soldier while my country
Has no place among nations...' You were rent
By shrapnel six weeks later. 'I am sorry
That party politics should divide our tents.'

In you, our dead enigma, all the strains
Criss-cross in useless equilibrium
And as the wind tunes through this vigilant bronze
I hear again the sure confusing drum

You followed from Boyne water to the Balkans
But miss the twilit note your flute should sound.
You were not keyed or pitched like these true-blue ones
Though all of you consort now underground.

Main idea-
this poem is in memoriam of the poet and soldier Francis Ledwidge, it talks about his time in war and his death.

Historical context-
Ledwidge, being an Irish nacionalist alisted in the first world war, comething that not many nacionalist did. He started writing poetry from an early age and atracted admiration. He died in ypes when a german granade exploted beside him. He died in a war fighting for a country that denied his

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Heaney reflected on this early period of his life in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech: In the nineteen forties, when I was the eldest child of an ever-growing family in rural Co. Derry, we crowded together in the three rooms of a traditional thatched farmstead and lived a kind of den-life. The time of innocence or ignorance will ultimately be replaced by full historical and political awareness.

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We took these piece of the poem because we believe it is the most representative and important thing about it

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All of us on the sofa in a line, kneeling

Behind each other, eldest down to youngest.

Elbows going like pistons, for this was a train

And between the jamb-wall and the bedroom door

Our speed and distance were inestimable.

First we shunted, then we whistled, then

Somebody collected the invisible

For tickets and very gravely punched it

As carriage after carriage under us

Moved faster, chooka-chook, the sofa legs

Went giddy and the unreachable ones

Far out on the kitchen floor began to wave.

--

Ghost-train? Death-gondola? The carved, curved ends,

Black leatherette and ornate gauntness of it

Made it seem the sofa had achieved

Flotation. Its castors on tiptoe,

Its braid and fluent backboard gave it airs

Of superannuated pageantry:

When visitors endured it, straight-backed,

When it stood off in its own remoteness,

When the insufficient toys appeared on it

On Christmas mornings, it held out as itself,

Potentially heavenbound, earthbound for sure,

Among things that might add up or let you down.

--

We entered history and ignorance

Under the wireless shelf. Yippee-i-ay,

Sang "The Riders of the Range." HERE IS THE NEWS,

Said the absolute speaker. Between him and us

A great gulf was fixed where pronunciation

Reigned tyrannically. The aerial wire

Swept from a treetop down in through a hole

Bored in the window frame. When it moved in wind,

The sway of language and its furtherings

Swept and swayed in us like nets in water

Or the abstract, lonely curve of distant trains

As we entered history and ignorance.

--

We occupied our seats with all our might,

Fit for the uncomfortableness.

Constancy was its own reward already.

Out in front, on the big upholstered arm,

Somebody craned to the side, driver or

Fireman, wiping his dry brow with the air

Of one who had run the gauntlet. We were

The last thing on his mind, it seemed; we sensed

A tunnel coming up where we'd pour through

Like unlit carriages through fields at night,

Our only job to sit, eyes straight ahead,

And be transported and make engine noise.

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This poem is set during the war, as a family of Irish children play trains on the sofa at home. It juxtaposes their make-believe play with the terror and tragedy of the Jewish people as they are transported across Europe to their terrible fates.

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The historical contest tells us about "The emergency" that was an official euphemism used by the Government of Ireland during the 1940s to refer to its political position during World War II.

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jamb

pistons

whistled

shunted

punched

chooka-chook

leatherette

Riders of the Range

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This poem talks about people who were forced to go to war.  There were aid workers helping people who needed it and helping other soldiers. Other soldiers were marching and preparing their trailers to go to the battle field and in the end of the poem it talks about how rough the war was and how they went to the battle field and they will probably never return. It salutes chains of support and human solidarity in the face of social disaster. He associates himself with the compassion, love and respect required of people who devote themselves selflessly to such missions.

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The poem is formed in the context of the second world war. The Axis powers (Japan , Italy and Germany) started invanding territories all around the world, Germany practically had almost of Europe having the north and west of France. After URSS und USA entered the war, the Allies started getting back the terretories that Germany had invaded, that includes normandy Beach.
It happend in the 6th of June 1944, also know as the D-Day. It was the largest seaborn invasion in history and took place in 5 beaches: Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha and Utah. They sent troops from USA, UK and Canada to invade these 5 beaches occupied by the Nazis. This assault ended with the liberation of France and eventually the rest of Europe. One of the consequences was that France became a provinsional government state, another consequence is that after liberating France they invaded Germany.

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▪︎ Franco's regime
▪︎ Falls
▪︎ Goya's Shottings
▪︎ Ulster riots
▪︎ Spanish Civil War
▪︎ Northem Ireland
▪︎ Spain
▪︎ Violence
▪︎ Cicle of death
▪︎ Revenge

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The poem tries to humanize the soldiers by comparing them to pigs, because they're going there to invade the beach but they get killed in the end without knowing their fate before hand. Another way he tries to humanize the soldiers is that the don't have an identitie and no one there knows them and also by them empithsing with the children by giving them sweets and candies, because they know they can't get it.

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•scapegoat
•adulteress
•Punisment
•voyeur

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This poem places us after the Irish crisis and shows us how women were mistreated and blamed for this crisis (scapegoat).

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One-two, one-two
Aid workers and soldiers
Drag and drain
Trailer
Letting go

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The poem!
All of us on the sofa in a line, kneeling
Behind each other, eldest down to youngest.
Elbows going like pistons, for this was a train

And between the jamb-wall and the bedroom door
Our speed and distance were inestimable.
First we shunted, then we whistled, then

Somebody collected the invisible
For tickets and very gravely punched it
As carriage after carriage under us

Moved faster, chooka-chook, the sofa legs
Went giddy and the unreachable ones
Far out on the kitchen floor began to wave.

--

Ghost-train? Death-gondola? The carved, curved ends,
Black leatherette and ornate gauntness of it
Made it seem the sofa had achieved

Flotation. Its castors on tiptoe,
Its braid and fluent backboard gave it airs
Of superannuated pageantry:

When visitors endured it, straight-backed,
When it stood off in its own remoteness,
When the insufficient toys appeared on it

On Christmas mornings, it held out as itself,
Potentially heavenbound, earthbound for sure,
Among things that might add up or let you down.

--

We entered history and ignorance
Under the wireless shelf. Yippee-i-ay,
Sang "The Riders of the Range." HERE IS THE NEWS,

Said the absolute speaker. Between him and us
A great gulf was fixed where pronunciation
Reigned tyrannically. The aerial wire

Swept from a treetop down in through a hole
Bored in the window frame. When it moved in wind,
The sway of language and its furtherings

Swept and swayed in us like nets in water
Or the abstract, lonely curve of distant trains
As we entered history and ignorance.

--

We occupied our seats with all our might,
Fit for the uncomfortableness.
Constancy was its own reward already.

Out in front, on the big upholstered arm,
Somebody craned to the side, driver or
Fireman, wiping his dry brow with the air

Of one who had run the gauntlet. We were
The last thing on his mind, it seemed; we sensed
A tunnel coming up where we'd pour through

Like unlit carriages through fields at night,
Our only job to sit, eyes straight ahead,
And be transported and make engine noise.

Idea of the poem!
This poem depicts the feeling of nostalgia and longing that people felt when the second world war and with it, the economical crisis and the consequence problems that it brought began, and they had to abandon a simple life, where they could have fun with just their imagination.

Key words!
•Nostalgia
•Daydream
•Disappointment
•Complex
•Delusion
•Slumber
•Reality

Audio!
On top of this note.

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For our group this is the most important part of the poem which tells very clear the main idea

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For our group this is the most important part of the poem which tells very clear the main idea

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This poem was written around the 1972, in this year, in the 30th of January, happened the Bloody Sunday, when British soldiers attacked and killed civilians of a protest in the Northern Irish city of Derry. The victims were Catholics.

Ireland between the 1968 and the 1998 was divided in two parts: The Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. The North wanted to join the United Kingdom, but the Republic of Ireland wanted the Northern territory and to be independent of the UK.
The Northern Ireland was protestant, but the Republic of Ireland was Catholic.

Seamus Heaney was from Londonderry, Country in North Ireland, and he was also catholic. Of course, he lived the Northem Irish Conflict (The Troubles) and in the 1972, probably after the Bloody Sunday, he decided to leave Belfast, because of his religion.

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About the Bloody Sunday:
https://www.bbc.com/mundo/noticias-internacional-60172404

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We have chosen these three paragraphs because they represent the main ideas of the different parts of the poem. They are useful to understand the idea of the poem.

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The first part of the poem talks about the victims of The Troubles and the Bloody Sunday.
The second part represents the nacional landscape of North Ireland and the Chambers of Boyne.
The last part of the poem describes the death of Gunnar, according to the germanic-nordic myth.

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Under Franco's regime, a 40 years old dictator that took place in Spain since 1939 until 1977, Seamus Heaney describes Madrid and some paintings by Francisco de Goya:

- The painting called "Saturn devouring his son", in which, in very dark colours, we can see Saturn (a god in the religion of Ancient Roma) eating one of his sons in a very bloody and graphic way.

- The painting called "May 3 executions", in which Goya wants to transmit the struggle of the Spanish people against French domination in the framrwork of the uprising on May 2 of the beggining of the Spanish War of Independance.

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Part I
- Coffin
- Dead
Part II
- Ceremony
- Chamber of Boyne
- Sepulchre
Part III
- Memory
- Violence
- Gunnar
- Burial mound

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Killing pigs, unknown, unnamed, hosting, youngsters

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I

I shouldered a kind of manhood
stepping in to lift the coffins
of dead relations.
They had been laid out

in tainted rooms,
their eyelids glistening,
their dough-white hands
shackled in rosary beads.

Their puffed knuckles
had unwrinkled, the nails
were darkened, the wrists
obediently sloped.

The dulse-brown shroud,
the quilted satin cribs:
I knelt courteously
admiring it all

as wax melted down
and veined the candles,
the flames hovering
to the women hovering

behind me.
And always, in a corner,
the coffin lid,
its nail-heads dressed

with little gleaming crosses.
Dear soapstone masks,
kissing their brows
had to suffice

before the nails were sunk
and the black glacier
of each funeral
pushed away.

II

Now as news comes in
of each neighbourly murder
we pine for ceremony,
customary rhythms:

the temperate footsteps
of a cortege, winding past
each blinded home.
I would restore

the great chambers of Boyne,
prepare a sepulchre
under the cupmarked stones.
Out of side-streets and by-roads

purring family cars
nose into line,
the whole country tunes
to the muffled drumming

of ten thousand engines.
Somnambulant women,
left behind, move
through emptied kitchens

imagining our slow triumph
toward the mounds.
Quiet as a serpent
in its grassy boulevard

the procession drags its tail
out of the Gap of the North
as its head already enters
the megalithic doorway.

III

When they have put the stone
back in its mouth
we will drive north again
past Strang and Carling fjords,

the cud of memory
allayed for once, arbitration
of the feud placated,
imagining those under the hill

disposed like Gunnar
who lay beautiful
inside his burial mound,
though dead by violence

and unavenged.
Men said that he was chanting
verses about honour
and that four lights burned

in corners of the chamber:
which opened then, as he turned
with a joyful face
to look at the moon.

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This poem takes the reader to Spain where Henney looks at his country from a distance. During it, he explains how Spain was like at the time he was there and compared it to Ireland. The poets show us his indecision of traveling or not traveling back to Ireland or to stay where he is.

In the final stanza of the poem, he explains some famous Goya's paintings who took an active role in his country while it was in trouble.

To add it all, he refleects on the violence in Irland in the mid to late 60s. He compares this conflict to the Spanish civil war.

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Nationalism, forced recluitment, war, independency, murder

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While the Constabulary covered the mob
Firing into the Falls, I was suffering
Only the bullying sun of Madrid.
Each afternoon, in the casserole heat
Of the flat, as I sweated my way through
The life of Joyce, stinks from the fishmarket
Rose like the reek off a flax-dam.
At night on the balcony, gules of wine,
A sense of children in their dark corners,
Old women in black shawls near open windows,
The air a canyon rivering in Spanish.
We talked our way home over starlit plains
Where patent leather of the Guardia Civil
Gleamed like fish-bellies in flax-poisoned waters.

‘Go back,’ one said, ‘try to touch the people.’
Another conjured Lorca from his hill.
We sat through death-counts and bullfight reports
On the television, celebrities
Arrived from where the real thing still happened.

I retreated to the cool of the Prado.
Goya’s ‘Shootings of the Third of May’
Covered a wall—the thrown-up arms
And spasm of the rebel, the helmeted
And knapsacked military, the efficient
Rake of the fusillade. In the next room,
His nightmares, grafted to the palace wall—
Dark cyclones, hosting, breaking; Saturn
Jewelled in the blood of his own children,
Gigantic Chaos turning his brute hips
Over the world. Also, that holmgang
Where two berserks club each other to death
For honour’s sake, greaved in a bog, and sinking.
He painted with his fists and elbows, flourished
The stained cape of his heart as history charged.

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We have chosen the second part of this poem because it focus on the war and the Irish nationalism. It also tells us about the forced recluitment that the Irish people suffered

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This poem is about a boy who found the death body of a girl who was accused of adultery and was drowned with stones in a bog by her husband

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In the first part the author talks about the life of Francis Ledwidge before he entered the first World War. This can be seen in the third paragraph. In the next part he talks about how his forced recruitment as a British soldier was, even though he was an Irish nationalist. This is mentioned in the tenth paragraph. He was murdered in only six weeks in a battle that he didn't considered his own. This can be seen in the paragraphs 10 and 12

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‘We were killing pigs when the Americans arrived.
A Tuesday morning, sunlight and gutter-blood
Outside the slaughterhouse. From the main road
They would have heard the squealing,
Then heard it stop and had a view of us
In our gloves and aprons coming down the hill.
Two lines of them, guns on their shoulders, marching.
Armoured cars and tanks and open jeeps.
Sunburnt hands and arms. Unknown, unnamed,
Hosting for Normandy.
Not that we knew then
Where they were headed, standing there like youngsters
As they tossed us gum and tubes of coloured sweets.’

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In this poem, the author talks about the Irish soldier and writer Francis Ledwidge and what he lived during the first World War. In the first four paragraphs he tells us how he lived before the beginning of the first World War. The next four paragraphs are about hum entering the army and the last four paragraphs talks about the end of the war and how he was murdered

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Northern-Ireland

Nationalism

Protestant/Unionist

Peace Walls

Paramilitary organisations

Fight for independence

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The conflict begins during a campaign by the Northern Ireland Civil Rights

Association to end discrimination against the Catholic/nationalist minority by the government. The authorities (of the Protestant/Unionist government) tried to suppress this protest campaign and were accused of police brutality. They built the so-called "peace walls" to keep the two communities separate. The emergence of armed paramilitary organisations led to a subsequent war in the following three decades.

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The bronze soldier hitches a bronze cape
That crumples stiffly in imagined wind
No matter how the real winds buff and sweep
His sudden hunkering run, forever craned

Over Flanders. Helmet and haversack,
The gun's firm slope from butt to bayonet,
The loyal, fallen names on the embossed plaque --
It all meant little to the worried pet

I was in nineteen forty-six or seven,
Gripping my Aunt Mary by the hand
Along the Portstewart prom, then round the crescent
To thread the Castle Walk out to the strand.

The pilot from Coleraine sailed to the coal-boat.
Courting couples rose out of the scooped dunes.
A farmer stripped to his studs and shiny waistcoat
Rolled the trousers down on his timid shins.

At night when coloured bulbs strung out the sea-front
Country voices rose from a cliff-top shelter
With news of a great litter - "We'll pet the runt!" -
And barbed wire that had torn a friesian's elder.

Francis Ledwidge, you courted at the seaside
Beyond Drogheda one Sunday afternoon.
Literary, sweet-talking, countrified,
You pedalled out the leafy road from Slane.

Where you belonged, among the dolorous
And lovely: the May altar of wild flowers,
Easter water sprinkled in outhouses,
Mass-rocks and hill-top raths and raftered byres.

I think of you in your Tommy's uniform,
A haunted Catholic face, pallid and brave,
Ghosting the trenches with a bloom of hawthorn
Or silence cored from a Boyne passage-grave.

It's summer, nineteen-fifteen. I see the girl
My aunt was then, herding on the long acre.
Behind a low bush in the Dardanelles
You suck stones to make your dry mouth water.

It's nineteen-seventeen. She still herds cows,
But a big strafe puts the candles out in Ypres:
'My soul is by the Boyne, cutting new meadows...
My country wears her confirmation dress.'

'To be called a British soldier while my country
Has no place among nations...' You were rent
By shrapnel six weeks later. 'I am sorry
That party politics should divide our tents.'

In you, our dead enigma, all the strains
Criss-cross in useless equilibrium
And as the wind tunes through this vigilant bronze
I hear again the sure confusing drum

You followed from Boyne water to the Balkans
But miss the twilit note your flute should sound.
You were not keyed or pitched like these true-blue ones
Though all of you consort now underground.

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I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.

It blows her nipples
to amber beads,
it shakes the frail rigging
of her ribs.

I can see her drowned
body in the bog,
the weighing stone,
the floating rods and boughs.

Under which at first
she was a barked sapling
that is dug up
oak-bone, brain-firkin:

her shaved head
like a stubble of black corn,
her blindfold a soiled bandage,
her noose a ring

to store
the memories of love.
Little adulteress,
before they punished you

you were flaxen-haired,
undernourished, and your
tar-black face was beautiful.
My poor scapegoat,

I almost love you
but would have cast, I know,
the stones of silence.
I am the artful voyeur

of your brains exposed
and darkened combs,
your muscles’ webbing
and all your numbered bones:

I who have stood dumb
when your betraying sisters,
cauled in tar,
wept by the railings,

who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.

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If we investigate the historical context of the poem (1975) we can place it in the middle of the Northern Irish conflict of 1969 (until 1998)

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I'm writing just after an encounter
With an English journalist in search of  'views
On the Irish thing'.  I'm back in winter
Quarters where bad news is no longer news,

Where media-men and stringers sniff and point,
Where zoom lenses, recorders and coiled leads
Litter the hotels. The times are out of joint
But I incline as much to rosary beads

As to the jottings and analyses
Of politicians and newspapermen
Who've scribbled down the long campaign from gas
And protest to gelignite and Sten,

Who proved upon their pulses 'escalate',
'Backlash' and 'crack down', 'the provisional wing',
'Polarization' and 'long-standing hate'.
Yet I live here, I live here too, I sing,

Expertly civil-tongued with civil neighbours
On the high wires of first wireless reports,
Sucking the fake taste, the stony flavours
Of those sanctioned, old, elaborate retorts:

'Oh, it's disgraceful, surely, I agree.'
'Where's it going to end?' 'It's getting worse.'
'They're murderers.' 'Internment, understandably ...'
The 'voice of sanity' is getting hoarse.

"Religion's never mentioned here", of course.
"You know them by their eyes," and hold your tongue.
"One side's as bad as the other," never worse.
Christ, it's near time that some small leak was sprung

In the great dykes the Dutchman made
To dam the dangerous tide that followed Seamus.
Yet for all this art and sedentary trade
I am incapable. The famous

Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times: yes, yes. Of the "wee six" I sing
Where to be saved you only must save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing.

Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us:
Manoeuvrings to find out name and school,
Subtle discrimination by addresses
With hardly an exception to the rule

That Norman, Ken and Sidney signalled Prod
And Seamus (call me Sean) was sure-fire Pape.
O land of password, handgrip, wink and nod,
Of open minds as open as a trap,

Where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks,
Where half of us, as in a wooden horse
Were cabin'd and confined like wily Greeks,
Besieged within the siege, whispering morse.

This morning from a dewy motorway
I saw the new camp for the internees:
A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay
In the roadside, and over in the trees

Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade.
There was that white mist you get on a low ground
And it was déjà-vu, some film made
Of Stalag 17, a bad dream with no sound.

Is there a life before death? That's chalked up
In Ballymurphy. Competence with pain,
Coherent miseries, a bite and sup,
We hug our little destiny again.